


McCree's Mission

by mightythirst



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Flirty McCree, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, How Do I Tag, M/M, Noodle Dragons, Sibling Interference, genji just wants to help okay, hanzo reluctantly caves to everything shimada, jesse flirts with danger mccree, overwatch shenanigans, surly hanzo, the usual shimada angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-08-19 10:27:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8202020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mightythirst/pseuds/mightythirst
Summary: McCree persuades Hanzo to join him for a mission that's off the books.Also known as that one time that McCree and Hanzo tried to prank Winston.





	1. A Questionable Objective

“Trouble sleepin’?”

The question did not surprise Hanzo.

No, he would have to be deaf to not hear the spurs whispering against the dirt, announcing the cowboy’s arrival. It was the sudden warmth of the man settling a hair’s breadth away from his side that surprised Hanzo. He could almost feel the flannel brushing against the dragons on his arm, but he was quick to shift away. With a soft grunt, his legs easily carried him up to perch on higher ground. He kneeled on a formation of rock that looked like it had been molded by a potter with an odd sense of humor.

It was best to keep his distance from McCree, he told himself. Better to retreat before he got too comfortable. The man had a way of doing that - of disarming him before he realized that the tension in his shoulders was easing off. It was unnerving. Hanzo had not joined Overwatch to make friends. He had joined because it was what Genji wanted him to do. It was a new road on his journey toward redemption.

“I could ask the same of you,” Hanzo shot back, an edge in his voice. Thinking about his brother was the surest way to remind himself that he needed to be on his guard. It was no secret. Everyone knew what he had done to Genji.

How could they possibly trust a man that had almost killed his own brother?

How could they ever want to befriend him?

“Yeah, you could,” McCree replied easily, the smoky drawl cutting through his thoughts. “I don’t mind telling you I’m havin’ trouble sleeping. I’m an open book.”

Hanzo’s mouth pressed together in a thin line before he muttered, “We’re not all so transparent.”

“It helps.”

“What does?”

“Talking about it.”

Hanzo was tired of the verbal volley. Finally, he relented and warily admitted, “I’m trying to clear my head.”

“Is it working?”

“A loud American keeps distracting me.”

“Aw, c’mon, Han.” The cowboy’s voice nearly sounded defeated, but Hanzo knew better than to think he would relent so easily. “I’m jus’ tryna help here. If we’re both up, how’s about we do somethin’ to pass the time?”

Hanzo had half a mind to dismiss McCree, but if their past interactions had taught him anything, the man was stubborn. He wasn’t going to shut up until he got some form of acknowledgement out of him. Why McCree wanted his attention, when there were plenty of other Overwatch agents all too happy to provide him with it, was a question that continued to elude answers.

Hanzo sighed. 

“Such as?” 

McCree’s face was hidden underneath the lip of his Stetson, but Hanzo could hear his eager grin. The man was practically part-puppy.

“We can play cards, or work on a crossword puzzle, or…” McCree’s voice dropped, attempting an air of mystery, “if you want to hit the hay harder than a sack of hammers, we can go on a mission.”

Hanzo’s skepticism needn’t be voiced to be heard by McCree, yet there was no immediate outright rejection. A distraction from his dark thoughts was tempting. He briefly wondered at how tired he must be, to even consider McCree’s absurd proposal. _Am I so desperate?_

Despite his curiosity, Hanzo trained his expression to remain unimpressed. “A mission.”

“That’s what I said.”

“I thought English was your native tongue.”

“Well, it’s one of them,” McCree replied with a hitch of shoulders, the same easy tone showing the insult had rolled off his back. Most, annoyingly, did. “But don’t you sass me, sweet cheeks. I know the words I’m usin’ and it’s a mission I’m proposing we go on.”

Hanzo hmffphed. 

“A mission implies there is some sort of objective,” he pointed out wearily, unsure where McCree was going with this and why he hadn’t snapped at the cowboy for calling him by that ridiculous name. His cheeks were not sweet. His cheeks were none of McCree’s concern.

“Oh, believe me, there is,” McCree replied cockily. “But it’d be spoilin’ the fun if I disclosed the details before you agree to accept the mission.” 

Before Hanzo could object to how unreasonable that was, expecting him to agree to go on a mission that he knew absolutely nothing about, the sharp-shooter said, “I’ll give you some time to think it over. If you’re interested, I’ll be in the shooting range.”

With a ceremonious tip of his hat, the cowboy walked away, leaving him. Hanzo watched him go, eyes tracking the shape in the darkness until he could no longer see a hint of the dusty red blanket that the man wore over his shoulders.

The kneel became a crouch as he remained there on his perch, counting the minutes, willing each second to tick by faster. The last thing he wanted was for McCree to think him eager. He waited for a long spell of time and then shouldered his bow. Sighing at himself, Hanzo pushed off the rock. He landed gracefully, sprinting as soon as his steel-toed boots hit the ground.

Someone had to prevent McCree from winding up suspended from active duty, he reasoned to himself as the stone-carved entrance to the Watchpoint loomed closer.


	2. The Fool or the Fool Who Follows Him

Earlier that day, McCree had been watching the sunset with an old green friend of his. They had sat upon a ledge that overlooked the seaside cliffs, his jean-clad legs and Genji’s armor-clad legs dangling over the edge.

“You must have patience with my brother,” Genji had warned him.

“Well, I ain’t one to quit the fight easy,” McCree muttered back, “but your brother - he’s a real piece of work, isn’t he?” Only his grin betrayed the fact that ‘piece of work’ might be code for ‘drives me up the wall in ways you can’t comprehend.’ He suspected Genji had a vague idea about it.

“Try growing up with him. He was an even bigger killjoy back then.”

McCree laughed from the belly. “Can’t imagine! And I practically grew up in the company of gangsters and thugs.” The smile on his sun-beaten face dimmed, turning mirthless.

“Suppose you two did as well,” McCree added in an afterthought, glancing over at the cyborg.

“In a way, yes,” Genji murmured, and it seemed to McCree that he was staring unseeingly at the view ahead.

A silence settled over the pair. The only sounds were that of the waves crashing against the cliffs and the distant cries from a quad of seagulls stationed on the surveillance buoy bobbing in the water.

McCree wanted to enjoy the peaceful moment and zone out, but the image of a young Hanzo Shimada sprung on him. His black hair was slightly shorter, with no strands of silver to streak it. There were less lines furrowing his brow, but his mouth was set in a haughty scowl and his dark eyes stormed wilder than a force of nature. He was a killjoy. The dutiful heir. A lethal weapon comprised of sinew and dragon spirits. It seemed more likely to him that Hanzo rolled out into the world born old and jaded. And yet, McCree believed that there was more to the handsome devil than a never-ending cycle of self-denial fueled off self-loathing. 

That’s how he knew he was a damn fool for the archer. McCree couldn’t get him off his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking that all Hanzo needed was a little coaxing to show he wasn’t all bite.

“So, you think it’ll work?” McCree asked, breaking the silence.

“Yes. You even managed to get Athena’s authorization,” Genji pointed out. “Seems bullet-proof, if you ask me.”

“Athena has a heart of gold. I wasn’t worried ‘bout persuading her to play along… it’s Hanzo that’s got me all agitated. You seem mighty sure that your brother isn’t going to make me into a Saint Sebastian.” 

Genji turned his green visor away from the sun dipping beneath the blue gradient of a horizon. He looked over at McCree and nodded. With his faceplate on, it was impossible to tell, but he was sure he heard a smile in his slightly robotic voice. “My master often reminds me that there are only two mistakes one can make along the road to truth. Not going all the way, and not starting.”

“Zenny is a smart fella.”

“Yes, he is,” Genji said, always speaking fondly of his Omnic master, “but it is a Buddhist saying.”

There had been a tug-o-war in McCree’s chest. Genji had Zenyatta, and he had had a teacher as well. The man’s gruff voice prodded the back of his mind. He almost didn’t mention it to Genji, but he knew that his friend - or rather Buddha - was right. If he didn’t start somewhere, he would never find his own peace of mind. The one he had been searching for, for over six years.

“Reyes told me don’t go in if you don’t know the way out,” McCree murmured. “I’m fixin’ to set that principle aside for this occasion.”

“You must,” Genji agreed. “We may not be certain of the outcome, but there will never be an outcome to know unless you try.” The agile cyborg leapt to his feet and offered McCree a hand to haul him up.

“Another Zenyatta saying?” McCree asked as Genji effortlessly hoisted him up. He dusted off the backside of his jeans.

There had been no shadow of a doubt in McCree’s mind that Genji was wearing a shit-eating grin as he replied, “No, I made that one up myself.”

* * *

McCree was ready to give up and call it a night when the door slid open and the older Shimada stalked in. 

“Welcome, Agent Shimada,” Athena greeted the archer as he crossed the sensors at the threshold. “Please let me know if you require any assistance in setting up a combat simulation.”

“Thank you, Athena. I will let you know, but it won’t be necessary for now,” Hanzo said, polite in his dismissal.

McCree tried not to look too pleased with himself as he holstered his Peacekeeper. There was a sheen of sweat covering his forehead, but a quick swipe with his handkerchief took care of that.

“Interested, then?” he asked as Hanzo stopped a few feet in front of him.

Like all the words that came out of his mouth, Hanzo seemed to pick each one with care before they were permitted to leave. “I will humor you.”

“That ain’t quite the same as agreeing to go on the mission… if you’re in, you need to shake on it.” McCree extended his flesh hand out to Hanzo. “No backing out.”

Hanzo reached for his hand, but paused midway as if thinking better of it. Looking up, his dark eyes bore into McCree’s with all the warmth of one of Zhou’s icicles. It was one of those looks that made his mouth dry. Probably not the effect that the archer was going for but McCree managed to keep his composure.

“If this is a fool’s errand, I will lose no honor in refusing to aid you,” Hanzo warned.

McCree almost withdrew his hand. However it remained hovering in the air, untouched. He wouldn’t give up, but he couldn’t betray how desperately he wanted Hanzo to agree to go along with his plan.

“No deal, partner.” The sharp-shooter matched his gaze with a calm determination. “You shake this hand and it’s binding. I’ll never let you live it down if you back out. You’ll be on death’s doorstep, and I’ll be lamentin’ about the day you took the hatchet to your honor by leaving me high and dry. I’ll tell every poor soul who will listen. Even the ones who’d rather stuff cotton in their ears.”

“This is foolish.” Hanzo crossed his arms, making McCree’s hopes tank. Tired of being left hanging, his hand fell back to his side.

Had he pushed too hard? Should he hitch the saddle and leave Hanzo be? _You’re a damned fool. Give it your all._

“Trust me.” There was a faint plead in his voice and he hated himself for it, but he was on the verge of begging. “I ain’t driving black cattle in the dark on this one.”

Hanzo’s mouth twitched; it almost looked like he was about to smile. McCree liked to imagine that something softened the cold look in his eyes. “Why should I trust you?” he asked, tilting his head as if to appraise him.

“Can you think of any particular instance I’ve led you astray?” 

Hanzo’s bewildered look was all it took for McCree to know he had him. The man couldn’t because he hadn’t - at every turn, McCree had done right by the archer. He had invited Hanzo to share dinner with him and the others in the common room. He had shown him how to make his requests for supply runs. After making it through one rough shit-show of a payload delivery, he had even taught him how to properly appreciate a cigarillo.

That wasn’t all he had done for Hanzo, but it wasn’t like he was keeping a ledger. He was merely loading up in case Hanzo had the memory of a goldfish and had forgotten all the times he had shown him kindness and good will.

“Fine.” The word came with no small amount of hesitation. Hanzo held out his hand. “I hope my trust won’t be misplaced.”

“It won’t,” McCree promised him, shaking on it.

At least, he hoped not.

He only had a moment to observe how firm Hanzo’s handshake was before it was over and it was time to initiate phase two of the plan. It was time to gear up and give Hanzo his mission debrief.

“How’s about we mosey on over to my room and I’ll tell ya the plan? I need to change my get-up, anyhow.”

Hanzo’s brow furrowed, but he nodded and gestured for McCree to lead the way.

* * *

Once they were in McCree’s room where Athena presumably couldn’t overhear their nefarious plans, the cowboy laid it all out. Hanzo had no way to hide his alarm.

“Are you suicidal?” Hanzo asked, arms crossed over his chest. The question was completely serious.

“It ain’t going to be easy by any means, but it’ll be fun, won’t it?” McCree reasoned with a wide grin, his thumbs tucked in his belt loops. It was almost as though he were trying to draw his attention to the tacky belt-buckle.

Hanzo kept his gaze fixed on the cowboy’s face, refusing to look down at the gold letters.

“That’s it, then? You simply want to have fun?” Hanzo spat.

“Uh - well - yeah,” McCree replied as though he were trying to figure out if he should backtrack and try a different path. “That’s the idea.”

Shaking his head, Hanzo turned and started towards the door. He wasn’t merely angry. He was disappointed. “No. I don’t care if you never let me live this down. I will not be a part of your _fun_.”

“Don’t you have a single funny bone in that body of yours?” McCree’s hand caught his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

“Forgive me if I don’t see what’s so fun about stealing Winston’s peanut butter.” Hanzo shook the man’s calloused fingers off him.

“It’s just a harmless prank -”

Something snapped. Hanzo rounded on McCree, cutting him off with a snarl. “He has done nothing to deserve it!”

“Woah now, easy there,” McCree said softly, hands up as if he were approaching a spooked horse. “That’s the whole nature of pranking. No one rightly deserves it. It’s just for a laugh. Keeps morale going strong when we nudge each other in the ribs a little.”

“You’re undermining a superior officer’s authority. Don’t you think Winston has enough obstacles to overcome without you being a nuisance?”

“It’s just a little peanut butter.” McCree relaxed into one of his easy poses. Somehow, he managed to make his arms crossed look casual rather than cavalier.

“What if I stole your cigars instead? Or your awful tequila?” Hanzo challenged, trying to appeal to the man’s empathy.

“Well, you’re welcome to them anytime, sugar dumplin’. All you need to do is ask.”

Hanzo’s jaw clenched and unclenched. He hated how the heat rose to his face whenever McCree called him by such names. No one else could make him blush like the foolish cowboy.

“What do you intend to do with his stash?” He wasn’t agreeing to help yet; he was curious. 

“S’not like I’m planning to eat a dozen jars of peanut butter.” McCree’s face scrunched up as if he were considering the damage eating that much peanut butter would do to him. “We’ll return them after a day or so. Before he goes apeshit.”

“Will you come out after?”

“I’m already out.”

“That’s not -” Hanzo closed his mouth before he stuttered like his heartbeat was the moment that McCree confirmed his flirtations weren’t entirely a ploy to get him riled up. “I meant will you hide in the shadows, or own up and accept the consequences?”

McCree scrubbed at his beard, weighing his options. His smile spread slowly over his face. He looked like the sort of man who might be tickled by the sight of a noose around his neck. Hanzo might have thought the man was afraid of nothing if he hadn’t seen the haunted look on McCree’s face after their first encounter with Reaper. 

“If we’re caught I’ll take the fall for us, darlin’. I don’t have any qualms with that.”

“No.”

“No?” McCree made it look like Hanzo had kicked a stray puppy. The smile on his face faltered as his lips resorted to pouting. McCree, a full grown man, was pouting at him. “You won’t help me? Or no, you want me to fess up?”

Hanzo cursed himself. He knew what he should do - he should leave. He should not let the foolish cowboy drag him into a world of trouble. He should not let his stupid pout convince him that agreeing to steal Winston’s peanut butter stash would be worth it if only to see McCree’s smile crinkle the corner of his eyes.

“If I’m going to help, we will cover our tracks.”

“Well butter my biscuits!” McCree crowed with delight, but Hanzo raised a hand to cut off any further strange exclamations. He wasn’t finished yet.

“If we do get caught, we will admit our wrongdoing and accept the consequences.” 

McCree’s shoulders sagged. Hanzo was ready to face any repercussions, but truthfully, he would rather avoid getting on the wrong side of Winston.

“Alright.” McCree nodded. “Those are reasonable terms, even if I don’t like bein’ reasonable.”

Under his breath, Hanzo added: “I doubt they’ll be able to suspend two agents over a few jars of peanut butter.”

McCree’s booming laughter seemed to fill the whole room. Hanzo couldn’t help but feel a little pleased with himself, knowing he had elicited the warm sound from the cowboy.

“You’re a clever one, Han.”

A cold arm suddenly draped over his shoulders. Hanzo could feel a different kind of tension coiling in his chest. A warmth that stood in stark contrast to the metal bite of the prosthetic against his skin.

“You’re a fool.”

“Who's the more foolish, the fool or the fool who follows him?”

Hanzo shrugged off McCree’s arm. He wasn’t sure who to be more annoyed at - McCree or himself for being impressed by an Obi Kenobi line. With a grunt of annoyance, he sat down on the edge of McCree’s bed. It was made, to his astonishment, and it smelled like an unusual but pleasant mixture of cloves and laundry detergent.

“I can still change my mind. Don’t tempt me, cowboy.”

McCree smirked, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Now what?”

“Oh-- right! Got to get changed. These jeans ain’t made for crawling on all fours. Too starchy for it.” The man began to rummage through his dresser, pulling out a pair of black trousers and a slate grey long-sleeved shirt. Hanzo was amazed. He thought all McCree had in his wardrobe were flannel shirts, dusty blankets, and boot-cut jeans. It was hard to unsee the cowboy.

When McCree kicked off his boots and undid his belt buckle, Hanzo’s face said something akin to, _You’re going to strip in front of me?_ Yet his mouth remained clamped shut as McCree tossed his clothes into a messy pile in the corner until he was down to a pair of red polka dot boxers and his Stetson. Hanzo knew he should have looked away, turned to face the wall, but McCree hardly seemed to care about the display he was making.

Then again, it didn’t seem as though McCree was trying to make a display of himself. Hanzo had only a moment to take in the man’s small pauch and the thick trail of hair running down his navel before McCree carefully set aside his hat and pulled the long-sleeved shirt over his head. There was nothing graceful or seductive about the way that the sharp-shooter tugged up the black pants. Hanzo could have sworn that McCree nearly tripped when he was getting his left foot in.

Once he had his trainers (the only other pair of shoes he spotted in the man’s closet) laced up and his backpack on, McCree placed the weatherbeaten Stetson back where it belonged. On his head.

“You’re still going to wear it?” Hanzo asked, a smile threatening at the corners of his mouth. McCree was a sight to behold.

The cowboy nodded, almost bashful as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “Ain’t feel right without it.”

Hanzo had no objections. It had never been in the way of a mission’s success before - it stood to reason that McCree could make it through this mockery of a mission with his hat on.

“Let’s get a move on.” McCree offered him a hand up. Entirely unnecessary though it was, Hanzo accepted it and rose to his feet. Maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised when McCree didn’t merely let him go, but drew him in to thump his shoulder with another big dumb grin on his face. The man was always tactile. The hand that thudded against his back shoulder almost matched his heartbeat. Both were loud and forceful. 

And then McCree was pulling back and holding the door open for him, casual as could be.

“No time to waste lolly-gagging, partner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- The next chapter will have more action, promise! I needed to get the set-up (aka Hanzo's heel-dragging) established because in my head he wouldn't simply shrug and agree to prank Winston.
> 
> \- You can follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/cleverestfella) or [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thealmightythirst) where I mostly repost beautiful McHanzo/OW fanart and will sometimes make updates about my writing progress.
> 
> \- Kudos and comments are like free food: WANTED and highly appreciated.


	3. Small Step, Right Direction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodness. I didn't mean to take so long!
> 
> Many thanks to my beta, [Yev](http://elvhns.tumblr.com/)!

McCree knew how to put on a show.

There was no sound, not even a soft patter of their own footsteps. He raised a hand, gesturing for Hanzo to stop before he checked around a corner. Rather than duck around it, as he had with a number of others, McCree doubled back and pointed up. The metallic digit directed Hanzo’s attention to the vent above their heads. 

“This is it,” he paused, smile a tinge sheepish. “Our ticket in.”

“This is your plan?” Hanzo’s expression veered between the lanes of unimpressed and doubtful.

McCree couldn’t blame Hanzo. The vent wasn’t even the width of his shoulders. It was, by a largely generous estimation, going to be a tight squeeze. But hey, Hanzo hadn’t outright dismissed him and walked off yet, had he? McCree leaned against the wall and folded his arms. His stance suggested casual indifference in the face of their odds.

“We could waltz right into the pantry if you want Winston knowing beyond every shadow of a doubt it was us,” McCree replied. 

“Biometric sensors at the door?”

“Bingo.”

Once, he had heard Hanzo mutter something about simple geometry. The look of concentration on his face made him wonder if the man was trying to work out some theorem to calculate the best way to wiggle in. It was endearing how seriously Hanzo was taking this.

“Very well,” Hanzo finally relented with a long suffering sigh.

“You want to be the piggy or the back?”

The frown shot at him told McCree there was something lost in translation. It was hard not to pretend it might have been intentional.

“Can you be less abstruse?”

“We need to unscrew the bolts,” McCree explained, gesturing to the vent. “Seeing how we’re not Reinhardt-height, one of us needs to hop on top of the other to do it. We call it piggyback ridin’ in my parts.”

Hanzo snorted. Whether it was in amusement or derision was unclear, but McCree would swear up, down, and sideways that those eyes danced with laughter.

“I am no swine,” Hanzo stated haughtily, giving McCree trouble with swallowing back a chortle.

“I’ll be the piggy, but I ain’t as light as a goose feather.” If he was trying to impress Hanzo, it probably wasn’t apparent. Not by the way he pinched a fold of the cushioning around his middle. “You sure you can lift me?”

To McCree’s amazement, Hanzo kneeled down. McCree blinked owlishly. Hanzo wasn’t even going to start from a squat. God damn.

“Get on.”

“Alright, but don’t say I didn’ try warning you...”

McCree pulled a screwdriver from his backpack and held it between his teeth. He needed both hands. First to brush the gold silk sash aside, mitigating any risk of yanking Hanzo’s hair. Next for balance as he slid into place, all too aware of the friction against his groin. Luckily the fear of falling kept his body from perking up at the wrong time.

McCree’s thighs tensed as he braced himself for what he feared might be a sudden impact with the floor. He heard Hanzo exhale a long breath, a small grunt, and then he was rising to stand tall. Both feet were firmly planted, legs solid as tree trunks. Hanzo wasn’t the slightest bit wobbly.

_This man is going to be the end of me_.

McCree couldn’t wipe the grin off his face when Hanzo muttered, “I was expecting a challenge.”

“Keep sayin’ things like that and I may take it as a compliment,” McCree warned with a chuckle. He made quick work of the bolts and then pried the vent’s cover off. 

“Can you get in?” Hanzo asked from below.

“Ain’t happening unless I stand on your shoulders…” McCree knew better than to doubt Hanzo could handle the extra weight, yet he couldn’t stop frowning at the thought of making the archer’s shoulders ache.

“Do it.”

“You ready?”

“I can, as Mister Dos Santos puts it, do this all day, McCree.”

“Alright. Here goes.” Holding onto the lip of the vent for support, McCree shakily managed to get one foot, and then the other, up and onto Hanzo’s shoulders.

“I’m surprised there are no spurs on your sneakers,” Hanzo commented as strong hands wrapped around McCree’s ankles. He felt like an acrobat. Or part of him did — his stomach was performing somersaults. It was hard not to imagine what those sure fingers would feel like gripping him elsewhere.

“If I knew you liked them so much, I would’ve added some for you.”

Hanzo’s scoff was faint, but he heard it.

“They are obnoxious,” Hanzo muttered, “and they would be digging into my shoulders right now if you had.”

“Fair point,” McCree couldn’t deny his reasoning was sound, “but I don’t hear you denyin’ that you like ‘em.”

“In the appropriate setting, perhaps.”

“Name a time and a place. I’ll be there, spurs and all,” he replied smoothly, a rejoinder very much at odds with the undignified amount of wiggling and gut-sucking it was taking to get his ass into the ventilation shaft.

“Let’s focus on getting you up there first.” 

That was good enough for McCree.

When he managed to crawl all the way in, he deposited the screwdriver back into his pack and dug out a rope. He dropped one end of the line down to Hanzo.

“I’ll haul you up.”

Looping the thick cords around his forearms for extra measure, McCree held onto the rope with both hands. He curled up with his knees to his chest, angling so that he could plant both feet against the metal wall of the vent. McCree knew he weighed more than Hanzo, but an extra anchor never hurt none. 

“Ready when you are, pardner.”

There was a tug heavy enough to make McCree grit his teeth. It was over quickly, just before the rope bit into his skin hard enough to draw blood. The sudden warmth, and scent of Hanzo, was like balm to his senses. It dulled the sting of the rope burn. McCree croaked a low laugh. 

“I was fixin’ to pull you up. Is there anything you can’t climb faster than a jack rabbit?”

“If there is, I haven’t encountered it yet.”

Gingerly untying the loops, McCree stuffed the rope back into his bag. They were going to need it again soon enough, but they had a ways to crawl before they reached the pantry.

“Where did you learn to climb like that anyhow?” McCree asked conversationally as he led the way. He had layout of the ventilation network fairly well memorized. Forward a ways, second right, first left - and if he lost track of all the turns in store for them, Athena could help him out through the comm in his ear.

“It was... part of my training when I was younger.” Hanzo seemed reluctant to talk about his childhood. Every time his upbringing came up, it felt like he was worrying at a scab that wasn’t ready to be picked off.

“Aw, right. Climbing has to be some kind of prerequisite when it comes to ninja training, yeah?” McCree tried to lighten the tone.

It might have worked. Hanzo snorted again, and this time McCree was reasonably certain it was in amusement.

“Yes. It is a necessary skill if one wishes to remain unseen.”

“Maybe that’s why I took to being a loud cowboy instead. I stopped tryin’ to be a monkey when I fell outta tree. Damn near gave my mama a heart attack.”

“Speaking of which, shouldn’t we be more quiet?” Hanzo’s voice lowered, barely audible. “There’s no telling how far our voices may carry.”

“We’re pretty far off from the living quarters,” McCree said, lowering his voice for Hanzo’s benefit, “but I suppose it ain’t never hurt to err on the side of caution.”

“How do you know these vents so well?” There was suspicion. Red alert.

“Let’s just say I’ve been thinkin’ about doing this for a while.” That much was true.

“Why now?”

“Found the perfect pardner.”

Behind him, Hanzo hummed thoughtfully in response before asking, “Why me?”

McCree chortled lowly.

“Didn’ you mention something about being quiet?” McCree deflected. His answer a quick draw, triggered by pure reflex.

The moment the words left his mouth, he wished he could take them back. The man fell silent behind him. Not a hum, a harrumph, or a single snap back.

_Aw hell._

All McCree could hear was the shuffling sound their knees and palms made against the metallic floor. One self-depreciating curse after another in his head, heart beating fast in his ears — he needed to say something.

“You’re quick on your feet, faster on the mental draw,” McCree finally said, breaking the silence. “I wanted you to do this with me because I reckoned if anyone can make this hare-brained idea of mine work, it’s you. And I figured… hey, maybe I can help you have some fun. I know it ain’t my place to be presumin’ what you need, but it looks like you could use some is all.”

More silence followed, making McCree wonder if he should have just kept his damn mouth shut until Hanzo’s voice, quiet but always commanding his attention, broke through the stampede of doubt. 

“Genji is the reason why I learned to climb so well.”

“Huh?” It was McCree’s turn to be confused. Had Hanzo heard him? Was he just going to ignore all the sweet things he had said like it was nothing?

“He made a game of it: who could climb to the highest rampart of the castle, who could reach the tallest branch on the tree. It was all a game to him, but to me, it was a competition. I wanted to beat him every time.”

McCree hummed under his breath. “Not that I don’t find this interesting, but I’m not quite followin’ what this has to do with me picking you.”

“You gave me an honest answer. I wanted to return the favor. You asked me how I learned to climb so well.”

It made sense to McCree. Hanzo might not know how to take a compliment, but he was trying not to come off completely cold. Small step, right direction. He tossed a grin over his shoulder. “I appreciate it.”

And then: “So, did you?”

“No, not always,” Hanzo admitted and it sounded like he was smiling ruefully, “but losing to Genji motivated me to try harder and be better.”

“So I’ve got him to thank for turnin’ you in’ta some kind of spider monkey?”

“I would say we both do.”

McCree chuckled and felt comfortable with the quiet that came after the conversation petered out. 

It felt natural, for a change, rather than uncomfortable. The rest of the way continued much in the same way. The occasional smattering of idle chatter, followed by stretches of companionable silence, until they reached their literal drop point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> You can follow me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thealmightythirst) where I mostly repost beautiful fanart and will sometimes make updates about my writing progress.


	4. Everything According to Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta, [Yev](http://elvhns.tumblr.com/)!

By Hanzo’s estimation, everything went to hell in a matter of moments.

Hanzo wouldn’t know it until much later down the line that everything went according to plan.

McCree’s plan, that is.

* * *

While McCree pried off the vent covering, Hanzo tried not to think about how much he had enjoyed the view of the man’s backside while it had lasted. He was tired. He was thinking about how sweet cheeks was a name better suited to McCree’s ass. The lack of sleep was clearly getting to him, but not so much that he would dare to voice the thought.

He peered down through the opening, eyes scanning the shelves that lined the walls of the pantry. It was a large room, bigger than his walk-in closet at the Shimada castle; it had to be for the number of agents living in the Watchpoint. His eyes quickly spotted the wooden crate that Winston tried to hide behind two large burlap sacks filled with flour and rice. It was unmarked, but everyone knew the crate was loaded with jars of peanut butter. Crunchy, smooth, salted, and unsalted — variety was an important part of Winston’s so-called “crippling” addiction.

Everyone also knew better than to touch the contents of the crate.

Hanzo turned his gaze back to McCree, who had shifted around to face him with a wolfish smile. He was pulling more things from his backpack. An assortment of tools, the rope, and… a suction cup? 

Hanzo’s brow furrowed. “What are you doing?”

“First, I’m going to set up this here pulley.” That explained the tools and suction cup, which McCree attached to the pulley and then stuck on the vent wall. He pulled the rope through, gave it a sharp tug, and seemed satisfied that it would hold. “Now you and I will climb down, grab the goods, and bail out. Should be a cakewalk if all goes accordin’ to plan.”

“And you’re sure Athena won’t be able to detect us?” Hanzo asked. 

He had a niggling feeling that it shouldn’t have been so simple, but McCree shook his head, all cool confidence.

“She shouldn’t know. The sensors are at the door.”

“Such a huge security flaw should be brought to Winston’s attention.”

“How’s about we mention it after this blows over?”

Hanzo nodded, and rather than carefully climb down the rope, he simply wiggled through the opening and jumped. He landed on his feet, crouching down to absorb the aftershocks of the impact.

McCree barked out a laugh above him. Hanzo almost glared up at him, but he found no mockery on the gunslinger’s face. He looked impressed.

“Coming, old man?” Hanzo asked, satisfied to see the smile chased away by a look of shock and feigned offense.

“Hey now, you’re older than me,” McCree protested, taking the easy route down with the rope.

“Then you shouldn’t have a problem keeping up.” Hanzo folded his arms.

“We don’t all have the knees to go jumpin’ and landin’ from way up high.”

“Perhaps you should spend more time on your knees.” 

Hanzo would cherish the memory of the slack-jawed, dumbfounded, completely awestruck look on McCree’s face for years to come.

“Suppose yer right,” McCree conceded, a grin slowly returning. He seemed to dislodge the shock with a shake of his head as he made his way over to the crate. He kneeled down and lifted the lid, taking stock with a low whistle. “Winston must be stocking up for a rainy day. Ready to load ‘er up?”

Hanzo wondered just how out of shape McCree was when he watched the man struggle to lift the crate off the floor. It was the groan that made up his mind.

“Please. Let me before you hurt yourself.” Hanzo came around in front of McCree and slid his arms under the crate.

“Thank y’ kindly.”

Humming in acknowledgement, Hanzo carried the loot over to McCree’s makeshift pulley. While he thought the old-school contraption might not withstand the weight, it worked. He deftly secured the bindings on the crate and had it up at the mouth of the vent’s entrance where they could easily bring it in.

“Alright, that’s it, we’re ready to — _McCree?_ ” Hanzo hissed in surprise, a pretty normal reaction for anyone who suddenly found themselves pressed between a wall and a warm broad chest. He wasn’t sure what to be more shocked at: finding the scent of smoky cloves that filled his senses _pleasant_ or the noise of protest that rose in his throat when McCree stepped back.

“Sorry ‘bout that, thought I heard some buzzin’...” McCree murmured, but Hanzo could only nod jerkily in response. He knew his cheeks were burning. McCree hadn’t seemed to notice, thankfully. He had his head cocked, a look of concentration on his face. A face, Hanzo noticed not for the first time, that was roguishly handsome even when its brow was furrowed with deep grooves.

“Torb’s got some new surveillance drones, but I didn’t think any would be in commission jus’ yet,” McCree explained, his frown out of place in a way that unnerved Hanzo. If he had learned anything in his six months at Gibraltar, he had learned it rarely boded well when the gunslinger was worried.

“It’s fine,” Hanzo said, pushing off the wall with as much dignity as he could when the tips of his ears were still burning. “We should get out of here.”

“Swell idea, sweetheart.”

Relief blossomed the moment McCree’s toothy smile was back, but Hanzo let his gaze linger to enjoy it for only a moment before he turned back to their way out.

“Do you need me to piggyback you again?”

“Appreciate the offer, but with the crate in the way, not sure I can make the squeeze,” McCree admitted, and it didn’t escape Hanzo’s eye when his hand went up behind his Stetson. A habit of McCree’s he had come to recognize as bashful. “Why don’t you go ahead and help haul me up?”

Hanzo nodded and climbed the rope, easily maneuvering around the crate to get back into the ventilation shaft. After their miniature payload was dragged out of the way, he peered down at McCree. The man had the rope in his grip.

“Ready?”

“When you are.”

Hanzo braced against the wall and started pulling. McCree was heavy, but he was undaunted by the challenge. The burn that pulled his muscles taut was satisfying more than it was painful.

He estimated that the gunslinger was about two thirds of the way there when he heard the pantry door swing open and McCree hiss, “ _Fuck_.”

There was a loud buzzing noise. Hanzo dared not move or speak, but it sounded like something metallic whirred straight up to McCree. He saw a flash of red light. A scanner, Hanzo realized, stomach dropping.

So much for having fun.

“UNIDENTIFIED OBJECT. THREAT LEVEL YELLOW. INITIATING CONTAINMENT PROTOCOL.”

“HAN- GET OUT! NOW!”

Suddenly the rope was weightless, there was a clatter against the floor, and a waft of frigid air blew in through the vent opening.

Bewildered, Hanzo looked down and saw the bot hovering in the air was not like one of Torbjorn’s conventional surveillance drones; rather, it resembled one of Mei-Ling’s inventions. Streams of glacial air poured out of it in all directions, freezing the room. McCree was prone on the floor, unmoving as the frost began to glaze over his skin.

Hanzo’s dragons did not roar to life, but the two blue spirits crackled and hissed, instantly displeased by the cold. Both snaked around his palms, chittering. Hanzo wasted no more time debating what he should do. He slid down the rope and landed in a crouch by McCree. The frigid air made his knees burn on impact.

Now that it had detected another intruder, the drone’s siren sounded. Before he could even find the words, Udon and Soba instinctively knew what to do. Growing three times bigger than their small forms, they devoured the drone, leaving behind a sputtering mess of circuits. 

“Thank you,” Hanzo murmured in his native tongue, watching them fade away. He scooped Jesse up in his arms with a grunt. Even though the drone was no longer turning the pantry into a tiny version of Antarctica, his whole body was stiff from the frigid air.

“Jesse?” Hanzo tried giving him a shake, but the sharpshooter was unresponsive. He was as limp as a noodle in his arms, skin pallid, lips parted and nearly blue. His mouth was curved in a small oval, stuck open, but when Hanzo leaned closer, he felt tiny pants of warm air against his cheek. 

_He will be okay. Don’t be foolish._

Hanzo’s legs moved heavily, feet dragging through the snow-covered floor until they were through the door. Biosensors be damned. They were as good as cuffed as it was.

To say that the pantry was a huge mess would be the understatement of the century — and it was only going to get worse. Who knew how much food would be spoiled when the snow melted? Weeks of rations, gone, when the organization’s funds were already limited at best. Winston wasn’t going to be the only one furious. The whole base was probably going to unanimously agree one Shimada was enough. Genji never should have brought him in. The others would clearly see the errors of their ways.

The door shutting dragged Hanzo back to the present. He blinked, startled to find his spartan room just as he left it. Bare and tidy. Auto-piloting had brought him here, with Jesse, when the two of them should be in Doctor Ziegler’s medbay.

“Han,” Jesse croaked, and Hanzo was stunned to find the cowboy conscious and smiling up at him. He looked too pleased with himself for someone who had nearly become a human popsicle in the pantry. “M’cold, darlin’.” 

“Jesse—” Hanzo heard a voice, small and weak. It was his own, he realized. “I’m taking you to Doctor Ziegler.” Hanzo headed for the door, dead set on it until Jesse’s fingers curled in his shirt and he shook his head.

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with me, jus’ a li’l cold is all.”

“Listen—”

“Give me a warm blanket, sugar,” Jesse persisted, and beneath the low soft tenor, there was that same unyielding tenacity that had surprised Hanzo the day he had witnessed the goofy cowboy obliterate all his preconceived notions about the man out in the field. “Ziegler doesn’t need to be troubled.”

“You could have frostbite, or hypothermia, or a sprain from the fall you took,” Hanzo protested, scowling. “At least let her take a look at you.” 

Jesse continued to shake his head.

“Sweetheart, I appreciate the concern, but I’m finer than a frog’s hair.” His eyes slipped shut, betraying some level of exhaustion to Hanzo. It was a wonder his teeth weren’t chattering with the way Jesse’s body was shaking in his arms. “No need to wake up Angie on my account.”

Hanzo was losing track of the number of times Jesse McCree had made him swear with an exasperation that would have impressed Genji.

The look on Jesse’s face showed his frustration translated. His stupid smile became a stupid pout as he asked in a stupidly disarming voice, “Mind setting me down and letting me lay low while I thaw out?”

“ _Fine._ ” 

The little mattress groaned under their combined weight. Jesse had been set down carefully, albeit squished against the wall, feet dangling off the end. His Stetson was removed and hung up on a bedpost. Hanzo sat himself on the edge, shoulders hunched, back to the gunslinger. The full weight of how wrong everything had gone was slamming right into his temples, threatening a headache. 

Hanzo knew that he should leave and start cleaning up the mess — the very least he could do was salvage their supplies — but Jesse was still shivering. He couldn’t be left alone, unsupervised.

“Please, Jesse.” Hanzo turned, facing the cowboy-turned-burrito that was curled up in his comforter. There was a desperate edge in his voice. “This could be worse than you think.”

“H-hey now.” Jesse twisted around, laying on his side to face Hanzo. “You’re finally calling me Jesse.”

Hanzo opened his mouth to argue, but he had, hadn’t he? He huffed in annoyance.

“You’re a fool — _what are you doing?_ ” Hanzo spluttered as Jesse tugged him down until their noses were nearly bumping. His eyes widened.

Jesse’s face was framed by the blanket, making him look utterly ridiculous, but his lips were still there, a hair’s breadth away from his own. Deep brown eyes were right across from his, soft and full of mischief. Hanzo was going to die. 

“Leechin’ your warmth. You feel real nice, Hanners.”

Hanzo stepped away from the ledge that would have taken him straight to the realm of internal screaming. Jesse and his bewildering nicknames were one thing, but _Hanners?_ That snapped him right out of it, back to his senses.

“Turn around,” Hanzo barked sharply, a command Jesse knew better than to disobey, but of course he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. 

“Aw, sweetheart, you’re lettin’ me be the little spoon?” Jesse asked as Hanzo moved underneath the blankets and slotted against the other man’s back. 

“If you die, I’m bringing you back to life to kill you again,” Hanzo muttered, throwing his arm around Jesse’s middle. He sincerely hoped that his eyes wouldn’t get stuck in a rolled position. 

“Alright, alright. I’ll hush now.” Jesse’s chuckles rumbled through Hanzo’s chest, making the hard lines drawn across his brow soften. Jesse couldn’t see the small, private smile he was too tired to bite back.

Eventually Jesse stopped shivering and his breathing became slow, even, rhythmic. The cold clinging to the other man was shooed away by the warmth their bodies created.

Hanzo’s plan was to slip away and clean up the pantry before the sun rose, but nothing had gone according to plan that night. He fell asleep, lulled away from consciousness peacefully rather than fitfully for the first time in weeks.

* * *

Winston pushed up his glasses and sighed, watching on the monitor as Genji and Zenyatta entered the disaster-zone Jesse and Hanzo had left in their wake.

“What now?” the scientist grumbled under his breath.

All he had wanted to do was get some work done. There was another big mission coming up and he was supposed to have two tactical team assignments drawn up before tomorrow’s meeting.

Instead, he had sat there and been talked down from losing his temper by Athena. Multiple times. She had assured him that his peanut butter would be retrieved and relocated to a safer storage unit after the pantry was cleaned.

“I don’t understand, Athena,” he groused, his temper only mildly quelled by the sight of the two agents cleaning up. The omnic monk was successfully using a prototype fire gun to evaporate the snow. The younger Shimada was gathering up the pieces of the shredded drone. “There are plenty of restaurants in Gibraltar proper. Why couldn’t he just ask Agent Shimada out? Isn’t that what, uh, most people do?”

Athena’s blue light flashed. “I’m not programmed to understand such courtship rituals, but Agent McCree was adamant that it had to be done this way when I made a similar suggestion.”

Winston shook his head and turned away from the monitors. He would assess the full extent of the damage tomorrow. Times like these made him wonder what Reyes or Morrison would have done. Perhaps they would have intervened immediately. Ordered Jesse to cease and desist the moment they saw him crawl into the vents. Or maybe they would have sat back and watched, half bewildered and half amused.

A pang in his chest reminded him that while he missed them, his vision of Overwatch was different from theirs.

Winston decided repercussive measures could wait. 

“There are some things science cannot explain,” Winston mused to himself as he stood up, stretched, and left his office with a jar of half-eaten crunchy peanut butter tucked under his arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and for all the encouragement! (＾▽＾)
> 
> You can follow me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thealmightythirst) where I mostly repost beautiful fanart and will sometimes make updates about my writing progress.
> 
> Take care. ♥


	5. Delusions of Happiness

There was no telling what time it was when Hanzo stirred awake. The room was always dark without the lights on. His digital window had been dismissed as frivolous and subsequently shut off since his arrival at Gibraltar. The only thing he knew with absolute certainty was that it hadn’t been a nightmare ripping him back to consciousness. His heart rate was steady. His mind was blissfully blank. Every limb felt relaxed.

His eyes remained closed as he arched back, pressing closer to the solid yet soft warmth curled around him. He wasn’t in a hurry to get up and begin the day. What harm was a few more minutes of sleep? There were no early morning meetings or Athena would have alerted him to the fact.

It took an alarming number of seconds for reality to come back crashing down in an itemized list:

  1. Jesse McCree was in his bed.
  2. Jesse McCree had his arm wrapped around him.
  3. Their mission had failed horribly.
  4. He had fallen asleep before cleaning up their mess.
  5. He wanted to stay in bed, with Jesse McCree.



Sheer force of will kept Hanzo from twisting around and screaming into his pillow. That was what he told himself. It was not because Jesse was still sound asleep with his face buried in his hair, breath brushing against his skin, and he didn’t want any part of that to change.

Hanzo inwardly groaned at himself.

This was ridiculous. He was acting like a fool from one of the shows Agent Song often watched with Reinhardt and Vaswani in the recreation room. A show he most certainly never watched when he was tucked in the corner of the room with a book in his lap. 

Hanzo knew that he should pull away, not privately revel in having Jesse’s thick arm hold him.

Jesse was, in spite of everything yelling _keep away_ at Hanzo, a force he couldn’t resist. If he wasn’t physically in the same room, his thoughts would gravitate back to the man. Despite his attempts to keep his distance and maintain professional boundaries between himself and the other agents, it was Jesse most of all who had persistently defied his efforts to remain detached. Jesse had never made him feel unwanted. He always invited Hanzo along or offered to keep him company, even after being rejected countless times.

Absurd as it was in retrospect, Hanzo knew why he had reacted the way he had when he saw Jesse frozen.

He didn’t want a premature end to the only relationship approaching friendship he had ever had outside of Genji. He would miss the stupid cowboy.

Hanzo opened his eyes. 

It was seeing the tiny light on his holopad device flash that had him carefully reach over and grab it.

> **Genji Shimada:**
> 
> sleep in  
> breakfast is outside your door  
> everything is OK  
> DNW!! ⌒(o＾▽＾o)ノ

  
Hanzo’s stomach lurched.

_Genji knew._

He had no time to contemplate what the implications were because Jesse chose that moment to snuffle warmly against his neck and murmur, “Han?”

Hanzo pushed Jesse’s arm away and rolled around to glare at him.

“Explain yourself. _Now_.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, but explain what about myself?” Jesse asked, eyes blearily opening. He looked like he was still getting caught up to speed in the mental department. Hanzo could only guess why he seemed confused by the sharp demand, yet not the least bit shocked by the fact that he was in his bed. 

“How does my brother know about what happened last night?” Hanzo asked, aware that his face was reddening and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“Well, y’see, I might’ve called in a favor.” Jesse propped himself up on an elbow. His confusion gave way to a sheepish lopsided smile. “Asked him to check in, jus’ in case things went south.”

Perhaps that answer should have satisfied Hanzo, but the divot creasing his forehead remained. 

“ _Everything_ went wrong.” Hanzo rolled onto his back, determined not to let Jesse’s smile weaken the resolve of his completely justified annoyance. “We accomplished absolutely nothing.”

“Says who?”

Hanzo shot Jesse an incredulous look. He wasn’t speechless so much as too irritated to dignify the question with an answer. 

“Maybe we didn’t make out with the peanut butter, but y’had fun, didn’cha?” Jesse implored softly, reaching out. Hanzo reflexively stiffened as the man’s hand landed on top of his forearm. The palm of Jesse’s hand felt nice. Okay, maybe better than nice. Hanzo made no move to shove him away. He remained perfectly still, trying to focus, and not think about how much he wanted that hand to wander across his skin.

“Perhaps,” Hanzo muttered, reluctant to acknowledge Jesse was right up to a certain point. It had been fun, until they were caught and things went to hell in a handbasket. “But it was a waste. We left with nothing but red hands.”

“Wouldn’t be hasty in calling it all a waste. No one got hurt, an’ we both slept better than two baby lambs,” Jesse added, and seemingly encouraged by Hanzo’s lack of objection, his calloused fingers trailed down and up. A motion intended to be soothing, perhaps, if the man’s touch didn’t make Hanzo feel like there was a live wire being sparked beneath his skin.

It was too much.

(And not enough.)

Hanzo caught Jesse by the wrist and twisted back around to face him. For a man who wore his heart on his sleeve, it was difficult for Hanzo to tell what Jesse was thinking. 

“If that was your goal all along, why make things so complicated and needlessly dangerous?” Hanzo asked. “We could have run through simulations, or gone out for a drink, but you had this - this whole thing planned out.”

And then, the pieces clicked together and it dawned on Hanzo: “Your goal was never to prank Winston.”

“Look, it ain’t all that complicated, sweetheart,” Jesse said, face lined like he was braced for impact. “I didn’t want to do the same ol’ same ol’ with you. We’ve already gone through sims and taken turns drinking ourselves into a stupor more times than I can count. I figured what we need is… this.”

Hanzo’s gaze landed on their hands, which Jesse had linked together.

“And you thought roping me into your inane ruse would accomplish that?” Hanzo ignored the twinge of guilt when Jesse winced at his harsh tone. It was deserved, he told himself.

“Suppose it seemed like a good idea at the time…” Jesse trailed off, and was beginning to pull his hand away before Hanzo held on fast.

“It never occurred to you that instead of falling ten feet and almost freezing to death, you could ask me out for dinner?” Hanzo’s voice remained sharp, his gaze narrowing while Jesse’s face lit up.

“Didn’t really smack me as your kind of rodeo.”

Hanzo sniffed, releasing his grip on Jesse’s hand as he turned away and faced his dim room. Save for his clothes and a kit to maintain his Stormbow, it was practically empty. There was nothing too big to shove into his backpack. There was nothing he would regret leaving behind.

It would have been easy to walk away from Overwatch, if not for his brother and people like Jesse McCree trying to coax him into sowing roots.

“You have much to learn about me.”

“Darlin’...” Jesse’s voice was imploring.

Jesse’s hand caught his again, and before Hanzo could protest, he was being guided away from the emptiness, back to face the other man. Jesse’s face bore no sign of playfulness. He looked dead serious, with his warm brown eyes full of intent and determination. Hanzo swore he could hear every beat in his ears. It was a rapid staccato drumming. 

“Maybe my buffoonery hasn’t made it clear, but I’d like to learn everything there is to know about you. If you want me to take you out, I’ll take you out. We can go anywhere you want. All I’m asking is fer a chance.”

“I…” Hanzo started and stopped. His head was at war with his heart. _A chance._ Jesse was asking him for a chance, when it was he who should be asking.

What had he done to deserve this?

_Nothing._

Perhaps in an inverted fairy tale the brother-murderer would deserve a shot at happiness, but Hanzo wouldn’t humor these delusions for himself.

Hanzo stared at Jesse, and then he sat up. He pulled away from Jesse’s grip and stood. 

“I can’t.”

_You deserve better,_ he wanted to yell at Jesse.

“Han.”

_You’ve made a terrible mistake._

“Hanzo- wait!”

_I deserve nothing_.

Hanzo didn’t wait or turn back to see if Jesse reached out for him. He left the room and only remembered Genji’s message when he nearly fell over the tray of food waiting on his doorstep. His eyes threatened to prick as the image of breakfast in bed with Jesse flooded his mind unbidden.

There was a mess, _another_ mess he should have turned around to clean up, but Hanzo fled without looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now to our left, the angst.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
